


In the Flames of the Revolution

by BelleRevolution



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Guns, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mercy Killing, One-Sided Enjolras/Grantaire, Pining Grantaire, Shooting, Suicide Attempt, You Have Been Warned, and Enjolras is wrapped up in his revolution and does not notice, kind of, pre Enjolras/Grantaire - Freeform, so I guess it's basically the cannon, this is just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:32:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelleRevolution/pseuds/BelleRevolution
Summary: Grantaire looks back on the early days of the revolution and wonders what went wrong.





	In the Flames of the Revolution

When it began, the revolution had spirit. So do all things when they begin, I suppose. I never thought much of it, not until one came barreling into my life – it brought our oppressors to their knees and is bringing freedom to the people (so we say . . . somehow, we have to justify this horror) – but at what cost? A nation at war? No one had expected that. We had all thought that the prince would fold and we would find ourselves in a new era; and we did, I suppose. We found ourselves in an era of death. That hopeful spirit that started all this still burns, I hope, somewhere . . . but I wouldn’t know, and I don’t dare ask.

I stood by Enjolras' side from the beginning. He was full of life and hope – something I never quite understood. How could someone who had suffered so much still believe that anything could ever change? But he did, and he inspired the whole country to believe with him. Well, most of it. He inspired the people to rise up like a tide, to bring vengeance and justice down upon those who would deny us our rights.

In the end, I think most people stood by him. There was violence in the streets, the prince’s men putting people down like they were animals, beasts, not worth a second glance. It made Enjolras weep, and when Enjolras wept, we wept with him. This had to end, somehow. We knew that. Either we would win, or we would die - I suppose that is the way with all things, in the end.

It was my plan - I surprised everyone by coming up with it, making myself useful for once. It didn’t take us long to refine it to perfection. Easy. Simple. Those were the kinds of things we knew to look for in an operation this large, and if anything, we had them. We spread the word, to anyone who would listen, anyone who would so much as glance our way. We had people in every city and every town - anywhere we could send the message, we did. Watch for the sign - you’ll see it. When it comes, we rise up, together. 

In Enjolras' perfect world, no one person held importance over another. He recognized how impractical that was, but strove to run his rebellion that way anyways. He was always so idealistic. The value of human life - so precious to him - but Enj was always risking his. I’d seen him almost die for more people than I could count. We took to holding him back at rallies, pulling him to safety as soon as violence broke out. We had to keep him safe, somehow. We couldn’t lose Enjolras - we couldn’t lose our hope.

But Enj was stubborn if anything, and so when it was time (despite my protests that he should stay safe, to lead the people to victory), he and I broke into the capitol building, made our way to the top room that overlooked the city, and shattered the window.

It should have been an easy job, all we had to do was set the damn flag ablaze where it hung - billowing down the front of the building. We managed that, actually, before everything went wrong. Enjolras accomplished his goal - the people saw the sign, and they rose up! First the capitol, and then as the word spread of the blazing flag, the rest of the nation! The prince didn’t know what to do or how to react – I guess, despite all his efforts to kill us, that he never really took us seriously. That’s all right. For a while I didn’t either. But the people did rise, proving me and the prince wrong! They didn’t win – but neither did the prince. In fact, last I heard, someone threw him into a river - one of his advisors, caught up in Enj's fire. From a practical standpoint, no one has won yet. Our country is in ruins - but there are places, areas, where people are free. We will win. I have to believe it - for Enj.

It shouldn’t have made sense, the irony of the end. A guard found us. It was just a kid, no older than Enjolras – twenty at the most. He shot at us. I shot back. Enjolras was preoccupied with the fire, his frame silhouetted against the burning flag. His shadow stood out against the brightness of the flame and the darkness of the room, almost like some kind of angel - but he was merely flesh and blood. Enjolras took four bullets, I took two. The guard took one to the head.

Enjolras had never handled pain well. For all his talk of sacrifice (and I never did doubt that he would) he would shy away from pain if at all possible. When he was grazed at a rally, he had cried the whole time the wound was stitched up - I had held his hand and done my best to distract him, but there are some things you cannot protect people from. It turned out that in the end, I couldn’t protect him from this either. By the time I dragged myself over to him, he was babbling incoherently, reaching for my hands, clutching at me. I don’t have much medical training, but there was so much blood . . . I knew he wouldn’t make it, not when we were in the heart of evil itself - to far away to be rescued, and to far away to escape. We both knew the risks. My blood mixed with his as I dragged him to the window, the banner that stood for so much evil blazing below us, and tried to comfort him.

“Look at that, you’ve done it. We’re free.” Maybe I imagined it, but I think I saw recognition in his eyes. I don’t know, maybe it was just the pain. He wasn’t really moving at that point, his skin had gone so pale, like marble. I put my gun to his head, the black of the barrel intermixing with the blond of his curls, and brushed my fingers over his arm, hoping for any sign of life, but at the same time praying he was already gone. “Permit me the forgiveness that God will not,” I whispered. The gunshot echoed through the room against the crackle of the flame as I shot him in the head.

His body fell through the window and into the blaze. I have to keep telling myself that that’s what he would have wanted. Better that than to have his body desecrated by the Prince. A mercy killing, in a way; it was better for me to shoot him then than for him to bleed out, or worse, be captured by the prince’s men. I sat down on the ledge with my back to the flames and put the bloody barrel to my temple. The gun clicked, denying me the right to join Enjolras in the flames below.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a piece I wrote for school, but I changed the names before I turned it in of course, and now I've changed them back and presented it here for you to read. Enjoy!


End file.
